


Fatherly Advice

by TheJokersEnigma



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bit funny, Father-Daughter Relationship, Joker's Daughter, Other, Tumblr, Tumblr request, quite fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJokersEnigma/pseuds/TheJokersEnigma
Summary: This is a request I got from an anon on tumblr, and I thought I'd post it on here in case anyone wanted to read it!Reader is a teenager and Joker is a single parent. The request wasn't particularly specific as to a plot or anything, more for general fluffy father-daughter stuff, so I made it quite fluffy with a bit of tears and worries.Hard for me to summarise as I kind of made it up as I went along, but basically - Reader is worried the Joker never really wanted her.





	Fatherly Advice

You stepped out the lift and straight into the penthouse hallway.

“Dad?” You called out, knowing that if he was in his office, like he usually was, he’d be able to hear you. “Dad?” You tried again when there was no response.

“Boss ain’t ‘ere at the moment.” Came a masculine voice on your left.

“Oh right, cool, thanks Harry!” You called to one of your dad’s men who had just appeared from the closet room on your left.

Harry nodded in response and then disappeared back into the room, returning to whatever he had been doing. You dropped your bag by the door to the coat closet and headed down the hallway, seeking out the kitchen for a snack.

“Hiya,” You greeted the ginger woman that stood by the oven, a floury apron tied around her middle and a tea towel on her shoulder.

“Afternoon.” Sarah called back cheerfully. “How’s your day?”

“Same as usual.” You moaned, hopping up onto one of the stools that lined your side of the kitchen island and reaching for the cookie jar on your right. “How’s yours?”

“Busy as usual.” She said, snatching the oven gloves off the side and bending to check on something in the oven. You caught the scent of baking bread.

You hummed in appreciation of the smell, then suddenly remembered something. “Hang on, isn’t it Georgie’s birthday today?” You asked, digging into the jar for a biscuit.

“Aye,” She agreed, “The little lad’s ten.”

“Then what on Earth are you doing here?!” You demanded, waving a half-eaten cookie in the air.

Sarah chuckled at you. “I have to work, hun. Besides, he’s been at school all day - I’m not missing anything by being here.” 

“Maybe,” You admitted, taking another bite, “but he’ll be home soon, won’t he? Who’s picking him up?”

“My sister offered.”

“Well, now you are.” You told her firmly, throwing the last piece of cookie into your mouth. “You’re taking the rest of the day off.”

“Oh no I couldn –“ She tried to protest.

“Yes, you can,” You stopped her. “I am more than capable of taking care of my dad for a day.” You pointed out. 

“But –“

“Don’t insult me.” You said sternly. “I’m quite capable of cooking for the man.” You slipped off the stool, brushing your hands together to get rid of the crumbs. “Now, go home before I get Harry to drag you out - even though I know how much you’d love that you.” You grinned at her teasingly, knowing the young woman’s crush on the burly man.

Sarah blushed deeply, “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” She mumbled, taking off the oven mittens and pointless scrubbing at the flour that had found its way onto her sleeve. She quickly gave up on that, the prospect of being able to pick up her son from school making her hurry. “There’s bread in the oven,” She said, turning to you as she wrestled with the apron. You nodded. “And there’s a pot of Bolognese cooking,” She said pointing at the stove. “Oh wait I haven’t –“ She started, suddenly pausing.

“Will you just go already!” You cried, excited for her.

She jumped back to herself. “Right – yeah. She muttered and then hurried to me, “Thanks, hun.” She smiled, kissing your forehead before she practically ran from the room. You followed after her, watching as she hurried down the hallway to the elevator, standing guard in case she suddenly changed her mind and decided she couldn’t leave. Sarah grabbed her coat and bag, cast one last look back in doubt – which you quickly dispelled by with impatient waves of your hands – then the lift was closing behind her.

You grinned. Well at least you had done one productive thing today.

Happy Sarah wasn’t coming back, you turned back to the kitchen, ready to take on the daunting mission of cooking something edible.

It wasn’t too difficult, Sarah already having completed the more technical parts of the lasagne, leaving you to simply piece everything together.

You heard you the lift ping somewhere in the flat, but you were deep in meal prep and remained in the kitchen, knowing your dad would eventually seek you out if he wanted to.

“Dolly?” You heard his gravelly voice from down the corridor.

“In the kitchen.” You called back distractedly, stirring the bubbling meat sauce.

You glanced back as the Joker appeared in the doorway behind you, frowning in confusion at seeing you not sat on your usual perch at the island, but instead manning the stove.

“Since when did I hire a new chef?” He teased with a raise eyebrow. “Where is….”

“Sarah, dad. Her name is Sarah.” You said, leaving the sauce and turning to him with a scowl. “She’s only been working here for about ten years.” You muttered, annoyed. “And I sent here home,” You explained proudly, “It’s her son’s birthday - she should be with him, not here waiting on us.”

The Joker stepped further into the room, moving around the large kitchen island that separated you from him. “You’re too nice, kitten…” He purred. “Are you sure you’re my daughter?”

“I often wonder that myself.” You muttered back dryly.

He was right next to you now and looked past your shoulder at the kitchen counter, observing your work.

“Why are there two, dolly?” He asked, nodding to where you had slowly begun to layer up two dishes of lasagne.

You turned back to continue your work, ladling a spoon full of the Bolognese on the sheets of pasta. “Well, Frost’s lady-friend is ill, and we all know Frost can’t cook, so I made him a lasagne to take home with him, so Jenny doesn’t feel she needs to cook in her state.” You explained. “It ought to keep them going for a few days.” You shrugged.

“Not my daughter.” Your dad hummed quietly in your ear, leaning past you to wipe a drop of Bolognese from the edge of one of the dishes. You laughed, catching a glimpse of his grin as he pulled back again.

“Someone has to make up for all your horribleness - or else no one would work for you!” You pointed out teasingly.

“Watch your mouth missy.” The Joker scolded with a growl. Anyone else might have cringed, but you knew there was no truth to his warning.

“If you’re not going to help, go away.” You told him sternly, “Or else you’ll never going to have any dinner.”

“Well then,” He said, feigning as if to turn away. “I guess I’m helping!” He declared, spinning back around.

You rolled your eyes at his childishness, but you were actually quite happy that your dad was going to hang around. Yes, your dad was the Joker – the man known as the psychopathic clown prince of crime – but he was your father and you loved him no matter what, even if it was hard to tell you were related.

Of course, he wasn’t always the best dad – renowned insane criminals didn’t generally have a very paternal instinct – and so a lot of your childhood, your care had fallen mainly on the penthouse staff until the point you could take care of yourself.

Your dad had also ensured you were home schooled until you were thirteen - at which point you had begged to be allowed to go to a normal school with the other kids like you had seen on all the movies.

J had reluctantly agreed after you had been a typical sulky teenager for over a week and none of his threats had seemed to have had an effect.

Both the staff that looked after you, and the school system, had taught you right and wrong. You knew that what your dad did was wrong most of the time and neither the staff nor your dad had attempted to hide or deny what he did.

You didn’t care anyway. You soon found discovered that you had an odd, inborn, lack of empathy for those people that you didn’t personally know. That meant that you didn’t care when your dad came home covered in blood or smelling like gun powder. Someone, somewhere, had probably deserved it in your mind.

The staff though, were family. J didn’t always remember this - especially when he was lost in one of his tempers or buried obsessively in his next plan - and was known to neglect their human rights – like holidays or their need to sleep.

That’s where you came in - handing out coffees where you couldn’t manage to swing time from J for them to sleep, or, like you had with Sarah, offering to fill in on people’s jobs where you could to give them a break.

You weren’t always the opposite of your dad though, often showing an interest in his work. When you did, J would almost encourage it, telling you stories of his previous crimes and teaching you about those he had planned till you became very familiar with his work - often knowing more about the heists that took place than the henchman that were carrying them out.

You were never involved in any of them though. You had never asked to go - and you were sure your dad wouldn’t let you even if you did - but you didn’t mind. You had however, made him promise to eventually show you how to at least use a knife – persuading him that you needed to know some sort of self-defence.

You thought about this promise as you placed a knife and a chopping board on the kitchen island and then grabbed a bunch of salad veg from the fridge. You set J to work on these whilst you continued to meticulously layer the lasagnes and then placed them in the oven, checking the bread Sarah had left in there.

Once you had completed your tasks for now, you turned to face your dad, leaning back against the counter behind you. It was almost comedic to see the renowned criminal chopping cucumber – though he was rather efficient at it thanks to his expertise with knives.

He looked up at the feeling on your eyes on him and caught you smirking. “Problem, dolly?” He asked darkly, daring you to make a comment on his domestic skills.

“Nope.” You said, trying and failing to suppress a grin. He raised his eyebrows at you but continued on with his chopping anyway as you watched.

Oddly, it was times like this that you appreciated the most – when it was just the two of you together and your dad seemed to drop most of his usual big scary demeanour. He almost became soft – not that you ever say that to his face.

You smirked to yourself, dropping your eyes to the tiled floor.

“Something funny, kitten…?” He drawled, clearly having caught sight of your smirk again.

“No – nothing.” You dismissed, glancing back up to him.

“[Y/N]…” Your dad warned with a growl. You knew how much he hated you lying to him and you were clearly pushing his patience now.

“Just thinking what you’d be like as a softy.” You admitted with a poorly supressed grin.

“Are you implying that I’m not?” He asked in overly dramatic disbelief, arching his brows.

“Oh, of course not.” You assured him with a grin, patting his arm as you strode past, “You’re a regular teddy bear.” You called back as you retrieved some plates from one of the cupboards.

You chatted vaguely over dinner about anything and everything. Most people might think the Joker had sharp, odd mood swings and was generally unlikely to hold a conversation for very long, but you rarely found that. Maybe he made the effort to be more normal around you - or maybe you made him more normal – you weren’t sure.

Once you had finished the meal and washed up – your dad conveniently vanishing at this point – you made yourself a hot chocolate and headed to the large living room. You flicked on the TV and curled up into the corner of one of the sofas, cautiously sipping your hot drink.

Your dad appeared after a while, a crystal glass of liquor in his hand and his head down as he flicked through a folder of papers.

“Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, glancing over at him as he lounged back on the other side of the sofa.

He shrugged which you took as a yes – you knew he’d rarely ever say yes - and you grabbed for the remote. “What’ll it be?” You asked, though you knew the response before he gave it.

He shrugged again, eyes still down on his notes or plans. “No chick flicks.” He muttered.

You nodded, finding a half-decent action movie and setting it to play. The two of you sat in silence, J spending most of his time reading, occasionally glancing up when explosions or gunfire went sounded on the sound system.

You, yourself, were lost in the movie, sipping at the drink in your hand. That was until a scene in the movie caused a familiar thought to enter your mind.

It was a niggling doubt, one that liked to claw at your mind when you were at your lowest and drag you even further down. Now it reared its head again and you chewed anxiously on your lip.

If you just brought it up - spoke to him about it – maybe it would put this doubt to rest. You’d then know once and for all if you were just being silly or if there was some truth to your worrying.

“Dad.” You started nervously, looking down at where your legs were curled up underneath you, picking apprehensively at the seam of your socks. “Can I ask you something?”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed J’s head reluctantly lift from his work, but you still didn’t look up. “It’s just – it’s – it’s been bugging me.” You swallowed, already feeling your throat closing up. You were hoping you wouldn’t get this emotional this quickly.

Now had seemed like a good a time as any to ask. Now you weren’t so sure.

J still didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“I – I know mum’s gone…” You continued nervously, and you could almost feel your dad’s jaw tense from across the couch.

Your mother was a sensitive subject for him. You were never quite sure what had happened to her – not knowing if she had left or passed away - your dad having always shut down and then left the room whenever you had tried to bring the subject up. You had soon given up trying.

“But, did – was I – I mean did you -,” You stuttered, unsure now whether you could go through with this. Your dad’s eyes remained on you, his work long forgotten on his lap and, when you glanced up, any concern he had for your discomfort was hidden behind a dark mask of confusion.

You swallowed and looked away again. “Was I meant to happen?” You finally managed, directing the question as your bent knee.

When your dad said nothing, you looked across at him again, worried your fears were being confirmed.

J, however, looked confused.

You let out a silent breath, wishing you didn’t have to say it again, but unwilling to give up now you had finally dared to ask. “Was I an accident?” You tried, your voice wavering slightly, but this time you kept your eyes on him. “Did you two mean for me to happen?”

Understanding suddenly flashed across your dads face and you felt your cheeks warm, weirdly embarrassed – like somehow the question was too intimate or tabooed somehow.

Your dad remained silent for a moment. “Does it matter?” He eventually growled, an angry edge to his voice.

“I – I don’t know.” You admitted, dropping your eyes again, trying not to feel hurt from the harshness of his words. You hadn’t meant to pry, you just wanted to know.

It had bugged you for years ever since a kid at school had suggested the possibility. You had brushed the remark off harmlessly at the time - having never told anyone who your dad was, and the comment having just been from a random kid trying to stir up trouble - but the thought had taken a foot hold in your mind and you hadn’t managed to let it go ever since.

You had tried to ask the staff about it, but they couldn’t tell you either way, and had seemed to close up at the topic just like your dad did when you mentioned your mum.

Even now, you could see how tense J was, his hands even paler than usual as they gripped his glass tightly. The movie was long forgotten though it continued to play in front of the two of you.

“I just – I wanted to – I wanted to know.” You finished lamely, wanting to say more, though you couldn’t think what. “I – I just – I don’t want to be unwanted.” You quietly confessed, dropping your head again. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

You felt, rather than saw, your dad get up from the sofa.

You chewed your lip, worried you’d pissed him off and he had just decided to up and leave again like he did when he couldn’t handle the conversation and didn’t want his temper to get the better of him.

You could feel the hot tears building in your eyes. You knew you shouldn’t have said anything.

Suddenly a heavy book landed on the sofa cushion next to you making you jump. You glanced over at it as your dad moved back round the sofa, taking his seat again. “Open it.” He gestured at the book.

You did as you were told, putting your nearly-empty mug down on the coffee table in front of you, and then reached for the leather-bound book.

It was a photo album.

A photo album filled with pictures of your childhood. It seemed to range from when you were about two years old, until your sixteenth birthday last year. The later pictures weren’t so obvious, but the first four years of your life shown in the images clearly depicted you nearly always with J.

There were some of you cradled in his arms, one of you being dwarfed in his huge leather office chair, another of you giggling as you pulled at his bright green hair. You flicked over another page, finding pictures of you as a toddler chewing on a pile of joker cards, being pushed around the living room on a tiny plastic bike by a pair of white hands, sat in a high chair with a party hat on your head and a cake with 3 candles in front of you and a picture from later the same day where J was helping you to open a brightly wrapped present.

In each of the photos, J was always in the frame, holding you or helping you, but always with a look of fierce protection and adoration for you.

“Frosty’s a pain in the ass,” Your dad mumbled, “but he knows me better than I do most of the time.” He confessed, watching you flick through the album. “He knew I’d want these memories – even when I yelled at him for always carrying that damn camera around.”

You couldn’t help a small smirk at the thought of that.

“I’m not going to lie to you dolly, I’ve never wanted kids.” He muttered, his voice gravely with some unknown emotion. “But you have never been anything close to a burden for me.”

You closed the book before you had even looked through half of It, your eyes too blurry now to see anything clearly anymore. J watched you with concern - had he still managed to put his foot in it even when he had tried hard to dig himself out of this hole?

Before J could say anything else, you had thrown your arms around him, hugging him tightly and letting your tears flow freely down your cheeks, soaking into his expensive shirt.

As you had grown up your dad had slowly become more distant with you. Sure, you had chatted, but rarely about anything overly sensitive or of much importance, and you honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged you.

When your dad made no move to reciprocate the hug, you immediately felt embarrassed by your abrupt show of affection and went to pull back. As you did though, you felt yourself being pulled back against his chest by a pair of protective arms wrapping around your back.

“If I ever made you think you were unwanted, kitten…” He breathed into your hair, “Then I am truly sorry.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head lightly.

You shook your head as much as you could considering it was buried in his shoulder. “You didn’t,” You choked out, “Some kid said it to hurt me – a while ago - and – and it just made me think.” You confessed.

You felt J’s grip tightened on you. “Who was this kid?” He growled dangerously.

You felt the sides of your lips twitch up in a smile at the sudden change in your dad, but you pulled back – despite his crushing grip – to try to look at him.

“No.” You told him. “Don’t go all reveng-y on me.” You scolded lightly. “There’s no need. It’s just some childish bullying.” You muttered to calm him. “No need for a murder spree.” You teased.

He stared down at you for a while, not seeming convinced by your red eyes and sniffling nose. You could see this, and you knew you’d have to confess your plan.

“Besides,” You murmured, looking at the damp patch of tears you had left on his shoulder. “I wanted this one for myself.” You said, glancing up at him, trying to supress your grin.

You saw the flash of surprise across his face at your words before a wide grin split his face.

“Maybe you are mine, dolly.” He beamed devilishly with a twinkle in his eye. You laughed, hugging him tighter again. “And maybe it’s time I offer you some ‘fatherly’ advice…” He growled, the sound vibrating in your chest.

It looked like it was finally time for you to learn how to use a knife.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I'd really love to know what you thought so pls leave a comment if you can!


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